Author's Note: Thank you to all the reviewers. FFN was glitchy last week, and some reviews were not showing on the site so I could not respond, but I received all of them in my e-mail. I appreciate your patience with me and this story! Also in case you haven't noticed yet, the 2005 P&P is on Netflix (US) again. I know we all have our favorite adaptation (I love them both so much!). The Jane Austen universe, including all the wonderful adaptations and fanfics is so comforting in these uncertain times we live in. Without further ado, here is the next chapter in our saga.

Chapter 11

Elizabeth could feel the pace of her heartbeat increase as her eyes first fell to the end of the letter in search of the signature, where she found the initials. F.D.. His initials alone sparked a restless energy within her that needed to be expended, so Elizabeth rose from her seated position, holding the letter in one hand while bringing her other hand to her cheek. She nervously walked from one side of the room to the next. Twice she went back and forth until she fortified her courage. With a deep breath, she seated herself on the edge of the bed and read:

Elizabeth,

Forgive my breach in propriety in sending this through the post, but as you will soon understand, it is imperative that this information reaches you. Do not be alarmed, for I have no intention of renewing the sentiments that were so abhorrent to you in Kent, although those very feelings have brought me to this most anxious state and are ultimately the reason I am writing to you now. I wish to inform you that I am taking severe measures to cast you from my thoughts. Please allow me to attempt an explanation of the means through which this is possible. I heard recently of a drink that helps a person forget someone they wish to forget through the removal of memories affiliated with the person. I met with an apothecary to obtain said remedy and was assured of its efficacy. I am sensible, then and more as I write this, of how beyond belief it sounds. I am left with little choice but to wish it achieves its purpose when I drink it tonight. I hope you can understand that the agony that continues to plague me since our last meeting leaves me no alternatives. I simply cannot tolerate living each day with you in my every thought when I have no hope of you returning my affections. I look upon our history with regret for all that was lacking in my behavior towards you, and I recognize your scorn is not without foundation. When I close my eyes, I see yours. I hear your laughter in every room, yet your painful rejection plagues my nightmares. Thus, I would much prefer a life free of the pain and regret I have endured since we parted. While I doubt our paths will cross again, please think of this letter if we were to meet and understand why I may not know you, and I humbly request your generosity in addressing me as a stranger. I bid you a fond farewell, and I wish you and your family all the health and happiness.

F.D.

Elizabeth read the missive several times before her mind was able to assign any meaning to the words therein. It was nonsensical, ridiculous, absurd. Her irritation began rising within her, fed by the forceful extinguishing of the hope that had been flamed at the mere sight of his handwriting.

"Whatever can he mean by this? Vexing man!" she exclaimed. Tears were beginning to pool in her eyes at the cruelty of his words. Why he would take such delight sporting with her emotions, risking censure for writing without the permission of either her or her father, only to relay an implausible tale? She would burn this and his other letter that she had previously cherished as the only part of him that remained with her. It was unlike the man she thought she was beginning to understand to be so needlessly cruel and confounding.

Elizabeth's breath hitched as her mind raced to another conclusion. She had misjudged him before, and she did not want to risk continually misjudging him. Elizabeth steadied herself against the bed post, as if the feel of the wood would somehow calm her. She took several breaths as she contemplated his words further. When had he been false to her before? Never. Not even when he could have denied separating Mr. Bingley and Jane. Did he not tell her himself that he abhorred disguise and falsehoods? No, this was not a game he was playing.

"But how could this even be possible?" she said to herself. Elizabeth was alarmed to hear footsteps on the stairs, and she moved quickly to hide the letter beneath her pillow and rub the tears from her eyes. A soft knock sounded.

"Lizzy? Do you need anything?" Jane said as she opened the door. Elizabeth remained facing away from her, too afraid to look at her sister directly.

"Jane. I am feeling quite unwell. The carriage ride did not agree with me. I know it is early, but I will retire for the evening. Will you please let Mama and the others know?" Elizabeth said. She kept her voice as even as possible, and she could feel Jane's eyes surveying her.

"Of course, Lizzy. There is far too much noise and excitement for you downstairs. I will have some soup and tea sent up for you. Please rest, dear sister," Jane replied, closing the door behind her. Elizabeth closed her eyes in relief and let out a breath she had not realized she was holding.

Once Jane's footsteps had receded, Elizabeth drew the letter out from under her pillow. Thus, Elizabeth spent the evening, reading and rereading the letter, her tears flowing freely. Elizabeth realized, whether the most preposterous contents were true or not, this letter was a final farewell.

Later in the evening, Elizabeth had readied herself for bed and feigned sleep when Jane returned to settle in for the night. Elizabeth's tears of confusion and sorrow were spent, but she had not managed to cry herself to sleep quite yet. Instead, her mind was settling on the path forward. She needed to know if the potion Mr. Darcy spoke of existed at all. She would seek this answer out first before distressing herself further.

It was not until three days later, after the Gardiners had returned to London and Longbourn had settled back into routine, that Elizabeth was able to rise early without suspicion and make her way to Meryton to see Mr. Jones, their local apothecary. She had donned her simplest brown walking dress, one that allowed her flexibility to move as quickly as one could with a long skirt. With no sisters to slow her down, she made it to Meryton in good time. A bell jingled as she walked into his shop, and he came out to greet her warmly.

"Miss Elizabeth! How good it is to see you. You have been traveling this summer, I hear?"

"Good day, Mr. Jones. Yes, I have been home not a week, sir." Elizabeth replied with a curtsy, determined to keep an air of nonchalance.

"And Miss Lydia, how is her ankle coming along?" Mr. Jones inquired.

"Very well, I understand. Thank you for tending to her, and I will apologize on her behalf if she gave you any trouble."

"Yes, yes, I know she was dreadfully disappointed with my insistence she remain at home, but we could not risk further injury. We are lucky she is young and will be in top shape soon enough. How may I be of assistance today, Miss Elizabeth?"

Elizabeth hesitated, and then spoke. "I come out of curiosity, rather than for medical necessity." Mr. Jones kindly smiled at her, his eyes watching her over the rim of his glasses, and she proceeded. "In a novel I was reading, there is mention of a draught that can make the drinker forget someone, a particular person of their acquaintance, entirely, by erasing memories of that person. It was quite fantastical, and I was curious to know if such a thing existed or if it was a creation entirely of the author's doing." Elizabeth smiled brightly, hoping she did not sound as silly to Mr. Jones as she sounded to herself.

Fortunately for Elizabeth, Mr. Jones was a curious and obliging man. "Ah, that is an interesting question Miss Elizabeth! You can be confident the author did not think that up entirely on their own. Yes, such a draught exists, although I myself have not made it, I do know of my colleagues in town who peddle such things."

Elizabeth felt a sense of relief Mr. Darcy was being truthful. Or, at the very least, there was a real possibility of this. Then, a feeling of alarm quickly overcame her. He had forgotten her?

"But how can that be? Something so powerful as to selectively remove a person's memories? And does it always work?" Elizabeth questioned rapidly.

"It does seem fantastical Miss Elizabeth, but it is not much different than all of the draughts that cure headaches and sores of all sorts. Like any remedy, it is not entirely foolproof. I have never met anyone who has taken it, so I cannot speak to the efficacy of it. From what I know of it, it is commonly sought after by spurned lovers. I imagine that's the plot of your novel," Mr. Jones said with a laugh. Elizabeth felt the color leave her face, and it did not go unnoticed, judging by the suddenly concerned look Mr. Jones was giving her. Elizabeth forced out a laugh.

"Yes, that is exactly it! Well, thank you, Mr. Jones, for satiating my curiosity. Good day to you, Sir," she said with a curtsy. Mr. Jones bowed in return.

"Good day, Miss Elizabeth. Give my regards to your family."

Elizabeth was relieved to be out of the shop. Instead of heading directly towards Longbourn, she took a longer path that routed her through some trees that stood on a hill overlooking her home. She stopped in the clearing and sat on a fallen tree that she frequently used as a reading spot. Elizabeth pulled out Mr. Darcy's letter from the small reticule she had brought with her specifically to hold his letter.

After speaking with Mr. Jones, Elizabeth trusted Mr. Darcy's account. She had softened towards Mr. Darcy in the months since his proposal, but now Elizabeth was realizing it would come to nothing. She had not returned his affections then on the most certain terms. Yet, when he had written this letter, he still felt great affection towards her.

"Affection and anger," Elizabeth said aloud. "What fools we have been! Oh, Mr. Darcy, we shall never see each other again, and now you at least have the luxury of forgetting all of this, and I am left to live with my regrets." She felt wounded and alone, and even displeased with Mr. Darcy. She thought of her familiar accusation towards him, of being selfish and uncaring for others, and how this was a perfect example of that, but she knew she was only thinking this in her anger. She could hardly hold it against him, considering how much she had wounded him. Tears of grief began to flow, and Elizabeth cried herself out before she could regain sufficient composure to return to Longbourn, tears and hope equally spent.

Over the following weeks, Darcy had little success in finding any more information about "Lizzy" or Oakham Mount. When he had inquired with Mrs. Reynolds about the visitors, she said that the couple lived in London and were traveling with their niece, but there was nothing further to report, except that the girl had been a keen listener and kind, and the older couple were fashionable and generous. Darcy had resigned himself that Oakham Mount either did not exist or was too insignificant to be depicted on any of the maps housed in Pemberley. His good spirits were beginning to wane as he was feeling increasingly unsettled, taking long rides across his grounds and spending less and less time with Georgiana.

This morning found Darcy in an agitated state in his study. He was settled at his desk in restless contemplation, his elbows propped on the desk while his chin rested against his hands. Darcy was not sleeping well; a shadowy figure was a consistent presence in his dreams, and he felt troubled when he walked around the lake at Pemberley. He had a sense that something was incredibly amiss, but he could not place it. He would never plague Georgiana with his discontent, so he simply brooded alone in his study.

Darcy sighed as he glanced at the untidy state of his desk. A pile of paperwork was next to him, along with correspondence he had not had the energy to read and respond to. To distract himself with useful employment, Darcy stood up and began sifting through the paperwork on his large desk. The mess of papers bothered Darcy from the moment he had returned to Pemberley, as he was fastidious about organizing his personal records and anything to do with the estate, but it appeared he had been neglecting this particular task.

Darcy had been at work for half an hour and was nearly finished when he noticed a medium sized map folded and hidden amongst other papers. His eyebrows furrowed as to its presence on his desk, and he pulled it out to lay it flat. It was a map of an estate and the strong handwriting writing at the top labeled it as Netherfield Park, Hertfordshire. Darcy quickly riffled through the surrounding paperwork and found a note from his friend Bingley, dated early last autumn, inviting Darcy to accompany Bingley on a trip to inspect it.

Bingley was interested in advancing his family's position in society by purchasing a country estate, but first he needed to determine how suited he was for estate management, and Darcy was the best man of his acquaintance to help him survey and find an estate befitting his situation and ability. All this Darcy remembered with clarity, but he found the details of his visit hazy, and cursed himself for not having looked for the map of Hertfordshire earlier. How could he have forgotten? Bingley had sent him a rendering of the grounds that were part of Netherfield Park with measurements of the house itself, and on the back was a simple map of the country surrounding the estate, including the town Meryton and other smaller parcels of land. Immediately, Darcy's eyes were drawn to the name he had spent days searching for. Oakham Mount was listed near the borders of the map. In unseemly overexuberance, Darcy pointed at the name with his index finger.

"There!" he exclaimed. A small smile formed on his lips, pleased that his search had not been in vain. If only he had been more fastidious in clearing his desk, he would not have spent so many hours examining the atlases and maps in the library. Darcy was not one to hesitate once his course was set. Whatever drew him to this location, he needed to see it for himself. He would write to Bingley at once and ask him to reopen Netherfield Park. The London season was almost over, and surely Bingley, ever amenable, would be interested in a shooting expedition. No sooner had Darcy settled on writing to Bingley forthwith that one of Darcy's butlers arrived with the post.

Darcy was pleased to see fortune was favoring him, as a letter from no other but Charles Bingley himself was amongst the correspondence that arrived. Eagerly, Darcy tore the wax seal. An annoyed exhale of breath left him as he saw Bingley's familiar script: words crossed out, blotted, and written with such rapidity as to make some of it illegible. He was able to decipher most of the following:

Darcy,

I cannot begin to understand what you were on about in your last letter regarding E. B[blot]. I can only conclude it was written in a fit of [blot] brought on by heavy drinking, and I hope to hear directly from you what you are up to. Still, your [blot] made me reflect fondly of our time in Hertfordshire and of our friends there. Before I end the lease, I would very much like to visit one last time, and I insist you join me. I hope your affection for me and our friendship is reason enough for you to accompany me without further persuasion or [blot]. I look to leave within a fortnight. Return a response quickly.

Respectfully,

Charles Bingley

Darcy did not understand why Bingley would not rewrite letters that were carelessly written, and he could only conclude that Bingley believed this habit to be a charming part of his character. He could not remember when he last wrote to Bingley, so he had no idea who "E. B-" was, and he wished Bingley had been more explicit and careful. Still, Darcy could not linger on the more perplexing elements of Bingley's letter when he was celebrating the fortuitous nature of being invited to Hertfordshire the very day he wished to visit. He would satiate his desire to visit Oakham Mount. Darcy was certain visiting the site was strongly related to solving his feeling of discontent. It all seemed quite simple, really.

Darcy sat at his desk and penned a response with as much alacrity as he possessed, affirming that he would accompany Bingley to Hertfordshire and enquiring if Georgiana could accompany them, as he felt a trip with his good friend and his sister would be just the thing that would set him right again. He expected to find exactly whatever it was he was missing.

Author's Note: We are so near the much anticipated D/E meeting. If I am anxious for it, I can only imagine how you are feeling! Thank you for taking the time to leave a review/comment.